


Book XI: Justice

by DarkeShayde



Series: The Arcana: A Retelling [11]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Creepy, Death, Discovery, F/M, Fortune Telling, Interrogation, Investigations, Magic, Memory Loss, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Other, Plague, Recovered Memories, Trials, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeShayde/pseuds/DarkeShayde
Summary: After turning himself in for the murder of Count Lucio, Julian is taken away in chains. Shayde now must found out what in that dungeon caused Julian to lie and also convince the people of Vesuvia of his innocence. Unfortunately, Julian isn’t making that easy for her.





	1. Right From Wrong

Last night, Julian was taken away in chains, and I was left behind in the chaos that followed. Not surprisingly, I couldn’t sleep a wink all night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face in my mind’s eye. The way he looked at me before his proclamation of guilt … What was he thinking? This morning, the Palace is quiet on the surface, but buzzing with barely-restrained tension. If Portia and I are going to save him from hanging, we’ll need to act quickly.

“I can’t believe he had enough time to plan his big entrance, but not to talk to us first!” Portia complains as we sit together in her cozy cottage. “Ooh, that idiot brother of mine. I swear, I’m gonna twist his ear next time I see him!”  
“We have to figure out what happened.” I say in response. “Something in that dungeon must have made him think he was guilty.” I _knew_ I should have been with him when he went down into that creepy old dungeon. I shouldn’t have let him go by himself.

“I don’t care _what_ he thinks about his guilt!” Portia exclaims. “We’ve got to get him out of there before … before it’s too late.” She’s right. This has the potential to spiral out of control very, very quickly. Maybe the Countess could be persuaded to change her mind or at least to postpone so I can finish my investigation.

“I’ll talk to Nadia.” I tell Portia.

“Good idea. If you can convince her that he’s innocent. I’m sure milady would reconsider. And she’ll know where Ilya’s being kept.” Portia agrees. “Meanwhile, I’ll work on a plan B. If things go wrong, we’ll need to get him out of the city, pronto.” With our courses for the day decided, Portia and I head off in our separate directions. I head for the Palace in search of the Countess. When I find her, Nadia is sitting at a small table on the veranda, gazing thoughtfully out over the garden. I get the feeling she was waiting for me.

“Ah, Shayde. Take a seat. I’ve just started breakfast.” Nadia says when she sees me approaching. “You look like you have something to tell me.” I take a deep breath. Best to get this over with. She will either listen or brush it off and continue as she originally planned to. I won’t know until I say something.

“Countess, I still have questions.” I begin.

“I have questions, too.” Nadia replies. “You’ve raised some interesting points about the chain of events leading up to the murder, after all. But, please, do eat something.” Looking at the spread of flaky pastries on the table, I suddenly feel famished. I tuck in eagerly.

“I fact, I have something to tell you.” Nadia goes on as I munch on the food. “I said to you that I planned to hang Dr. Devorak once he was caught, but … I have reconsidered. He will have a trial.” A trial? So, he won’t just be hanged for a crime he didn’t commit? That’s something.

“Of course, trials usually involve the Praetor declaring the accused guilty and deciding a punishment. But, as part of my reforms for the city, I am establishing something based on a Prakran custom. A trial by jury. This will be the first case to see a court of law in Vesuvia. You will be able to present you case to people. They will decide the verdict by popular vote. I will be making the announcement soon. You have until this afternoon to prepare.” Nadia informs me. Convincing an entire crowd of Julian’s innocence … That could be harder than convincing Nadia directly. But I’ll at least have a chance to defend him.

“If you would like to question the Doctor himself, he is being held in the dungeons underneath the Coliseum.” Nadia says, giving me a sideways glance. “That place has been abandoned for years … hopefully it will find new purpose as a place of law and justice.” I nod my thanks and stand to leave. I have very little time and a lot to get done in that time. I stop by my room in the Palace and grab my bag before heading to the Coliseum. Outside the Palace walls, life proceeds almost as usual. Many townspeople are already up and about. But today, the chatter is a little different.

“Hey! Did you hear?” I hear a nearby purveyor of pastries call out. “The Count’s murderer got arrested!”

“Course I did.” The cheese connoisseur that was addressed calls back. “But I heard he turned himself in.” That gets the attention of a local fruit fanatic, who of course has to chime in and add to the gossip.

“What?! No! He charged through a dozen guards to try and kill the Countess!” … Rumor spreads quickly, though the story seems to have been distorted along the way. I continue on my way until I see the Coliseum looms ahead of me. The arena is empty … except for a guard at a doorway. They salute nervously and step aside, allowing me to pass. I step down the stairs into yet another dark tunnel.

This looks like a different part of the Coliseum’s underground than the Red Market. It’s a wide corridor with cells on either side. Most are in disrepair, littered with debris. The whole feeling of the place is old and unused. But one of the cells has been fitted with a new door, with a barred window I can look through. It contains a bedroll, untouched tray of food ... And Julian, manacled to the wall. There’s enough slack in the chains for him to move around the cell a little, but not enough to reach the door. He’s pacing, keeping his head down, muttering to himself. When I push open the cell door, he looks up at me. I see worry, fear, and affection all flash across his face in rapid succession.

“You’re alright!” He says. Then, as if remembering himself, he clears his throat, and schools his expression into neutrality. “I- I mean. You, uh. You’ve come to hear my confession before the trial, have you?” I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t care for this little show he is putting on any more than I cared for the one in the garden last night.

“Drop the act.” I snap at him. I seem to have taken him off-guard with my curt response. For a moment, his villainous façade cracks.

“I. Er, that is.” He stutters a little before recovering and beginning again with that insufferable grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you, Julian.” I start to say, but Julian cuts me off.

“You think you know me? You don’t know the first thing about me.” He snarls the venomous words at me. “What I’ve done. What a _monster_ I am. This is long overdue. Isn’t it time I faced justice for my crimes?” I don’t know him, huh? Well, _that_ hurts. Before I can give him a piece of my mind, I feel a hum in the back of my mind. It’s coming from the deck of cards in my pocket. It seems like the Arcana have something to say about that.

“Why don’t we ask the cards that?” I ask him, trying my best to hide the heartbreak I feel at his last outburst.

“Er, what, really?” Julian asks. “You’re going to tell my fortune? Now?” His expression is one of simple surprise.

“Humor me.” I take the cards out of my bag and carefully shuffle them, preparing them for the reading. It is harder to do without a table, but I’ll have to make due. I draw one card and hold it out between the two of us.

“Justice, reversed.” I announce.

“See? What did I say? This is justice, isn’t it?” Julian interjects, as if the card proves his point. I shake my head at him and hold up my hand towards him.

“Let me finish.” I say. Justice’s message is simple and clear. “Bias and chaos run rampant. Truth and objectivity have fallen by the wayside. Justice cannot be built on falsehoods.”

“And what if … everything I’ve done has been built on falsehoods?” Julian asks quietly, his expression downcast. “What if you didn’t know me at all? And I don’t want you to know the real me? You deserve better than that, Shayde? After everything I’ve done … I bet you wish you’d never met me.” Well … looking backwards and wishing something else had happened never helps anyone. All it does is cause the past to consume the future. That isn’t a life worth living.

“But I did. Wishing won’t change that.” I tell him.

“Even when I bring you misfortune?” Julian asks, like he is asking, begging, me to persuade him that he is wrong. That I can do. He doesn’t bring misfortune.

“You can’t blame yourself for everything.” I say.

“Even when it’s my fault? I should have done _something_. Anything. Instead I just …” Julian trails off. His words don’t make a whole lot of sense to me right now. Is he talking about something he found yesterday in the dungeon? Maybe I’m getting through to him. Maybe I’ll learn something from him.

“I just want you to be honest with me. Tell me what you found in that dungeon.” I plead.

“Well, that is … In my old office, I …” Then he jerks in shock and looks at me, his eye going wide with horror, and … is that fear? “No. No, you’ll get nothing more out of me, Shayde. Besides, don’t you want to hear how I murdered the Count?” Of course. I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear he isn’t going to answer any of my questions. Well. If he won’t tell me, there’s only one thing to do. My resolve must show on my face.

“… Wait. Wait wait wait. You look like you’re planning something. What are you planning?” Julian asks. I look him in the eye with determination.

“I’m going to go see that dungeon for myself.” I tell him.

“No!” Just like that, his villainous façade cracks apart once again. “No, no, don’t! Don’t go down there, Shayde! It’s dangerous, you could get sick, and I couldn’t … I can’t … Y-you, you can’t eve get down there. The key didn’t work for you. You couldn’t possibly be as bad as me, Shayde.” By the time he finishes speaking, his mask is once more in place. He is once again hiding behind the make-believe murderous Doctor Devorak.

“You don’t know that.” I retort. “ _I_  don’t know that.”

“You … huh?”

“I’m missing memories, too, Julian. Years of them. Whenever I try to remember it … I get headaches.” I explain. Maybe my past is as bad as his. Maybe it’s worse. But I don’t know because I can remember nothing before about three years ago. Everything before that is a blank.

“You, but, how did …? When …? That’s …” Julian can’t seem to collect his thoughts enough to form complete sentences. Some realization suddenly strikes him, and his next words come out in a rush. “That’s even worse! Shayde, it’s absolutely vital that you listen to me. If your missing memories, these headaches, are anything like mine- and I’m not saying they are, but they might be- then if you remember, if you get those memories back, you could get hurt!” I know those headaches well. They do hurt, but … Not knowing hurts, too.

“I have to go.” I tell him with a shake of my head. I take a step back as if to leave.

“Wait!” With a rattle of chains, he lunges away from the wall. He can’t get to the door … but he can reach me. He looks down at his hand, wrapped around my wrist. He loosens his grip until he’s just barely holding on to me. But he is still holding on.

“… Please wait.” He almost whispers.

“I’m listening.” I tell him.

“I’m sorry, Shayde.” Julian begins. “I know this is, uh, the exact opposite of what you wanted. I ran from Vesuvia for years, but that night … it haunted me, no matter where I went. When I came back, I just wanted to see everyone I knew. Say goodbye.” A wistful smile touches the corners of his mouth. With trembling fingers, he cups my cheek.

“And then I met you.” He says, giving me that longing look again. “I don’t want to hurt you, Shayde. I never would. But I’ve been running from the truth for long enough. Last night, I, well, I realized what I have to do. That’s … Huh. I guess that’s why I really came back, in the end. To do the right thing.”

“Right or wrong … I care about you. I don’t want to see you suffer.” I tell him. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I … It’s not that I doubt _you_ , Shayde. Just myself.” Julian mutters. “Aren’t I just dragging you down with me?” His word trail off into silence as I touch my fingers to his lips, hushing him. He leans forward as if mesmerized, then hesitates, looking uncertainly at me.

“Shayde, I …” It seems like he still has doubts. If my words won’t get through to him, maybe my actions will. I run my fingers over his jawline, then cup his face in both hands. He looks at me with something like wonder in his eyes as I close the distance between us. My lips brush lightly over his. Trembling under the slight touch, he closes his eye. Then all at once he surges forward, wrapping his arms around me. Curling his fingers over the nape of my neck, he brings our lips together again and again. I eagerly return the attention. He groans, low in his throat, and presses his other hand flat against the small of my back to pull me impossibly closer. When we finally part for air, he blinks at me, his eye heavy-lidded. He’s still wound up tighter than a spring, but I can feel some of that tension melting away as he holds me.

“Shayde …” Julian whispers. I don’t want to leave him here, alone, but I know in my heart that I have to. If I’m going to exonerate him in the upcoming trial, I need answers and at the very least probable doubt for the jury. He clutches at my arms like he can hold me back, but I muster the resolve to pull away.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Julian.” I declare. He reaches out for me again, as I close the cell door between us.

“Don’t go!” He calls out. “You can’t get down there, and even if you can, it won’t help! You’ll get hurt! Come back! Shayde!” His desperate entreaties fade behind me as I hurry away and back out into the sunlight. The journey back to the Palace library passes in a haze. I can’t banish the echo of Julian’s voice in my mind. There’s no time to waste. I need to open up that secret passage and search the dungeon. Some where down there are the answers I’m looking for and I intend to find them. I cast my mind back to last night, and pull the trick books out again. Red, leather, and …

“Black with gold?” An oddly muffled voice speaks right in my ear. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I whirl around, my pulse pounding, my every instinct screaming danger. I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t feel anything. The presence in front of me … is a void. I recognize them, but from where? It takes me a few frantic seconds to dredge up the memory. I met them when Nadia introduced me to the courtiers in the salon.

“Quaestor … Valdemar?” I ask hesitantly.

“Exactly so.” Comes the reply. “Looking for the dungeons, are we?” Their presence is deeply unsettling, but I can’t turn back now … Now that I think about it, didn’t Julian mention Valdemar yesterday? Maybe they could take me down there. This could be the break I needed in this case.

“Yes. I’m looking for evidence about Julian … Dr. Devorak’s work.” I reply. They still have me pinned against the bookshelf and it’s taking all I have in me not to run away. Possibly screaming as I run.

“Doctor … hmm, Doctor Devorak? Ohh, wait. Doctor No. 069, yes, yes.” Valdemar muses. “How wonderful, how delightful, I haven’t taken anyone down there in _ages_. You simply must let me give you the full tour.” They sound disturbingly delighted as they lean forward until their face is just inches from mine. I take an involuntary step back, and hit the bookcase behind me. Reaching over my shoulder, they deftly snag the last trick book, and tug it out partway. The doorway to the tunnel slides open behind me, and I stumble backwards into it. I manage to regain my balance before I tumble all the way to the floor.

“I do so love it when guests are excited.” Valdemar gushes. They slide around me, and step into the tunnel. Despite my almost overwhelming sense of foreboding, I gather my courage, and follow them. I have to know.


	2. Pursuit of Knowledge

As we enter the secret passage behind the bookcase, I quickly begin stumbling over the uneven floor in the dark.

“Ah. You need light, don’t you?” Valdemar asks with an odd tilt of their head. They pluck a torch from an alcove I hadn’t noticed and light it, before continuing deeper into the tunnels. I have a feeling they would know the way in the dark. I, however, do not have that knowledge. I’ll have to stick close to Valdemar so as to not get lost or fall and hurt myself in the absolute darkness of these dungeon tunnels.

The lifts looms ominously ahead of us in the gloom. Valdemar pauses in front of it, running their fingers along the plaque, in what almost looks like a caress. They appear to be reminiscing about something. I shudder to think what this creature looks back on with such fondness. Something tells me it is nothing good.

“Oh, isn’t this plaque just an inspired decorating choice? They were all so scared of it, the silly little ducklings. How terribly gullible they were.” Valdemar says as they pluck a key from their pocket. From the glimpse I get of it, their key matches Julian’s perfectly. I briefly wonder if they are all the same or if there is some minuscule differences.

“Wait!” I call out. I wanted to try the key again myself. But Valdemar is already turning it in the lock. It didn’t seem to give them any resistance. The mechanism screeches as the door opens, unused to being used so much after having been neglected for years.

“Did you need something?” Valdemar questions. I nod.

“Yes, I-” I begin, but they cut me off.

“I don’t actually care. Go on, now.” They say as they shoo me towards the lift. Reluctantly, I step into the cage. The doors screech shut, and I pull the lever inside. Metal rattles around me, and I descend into the darkness below.

As soon as I step out of the lift, it clangs back up towards the top again, doubtless called back by Valdemar. I can barely make out vague shapes in the gloom. But when I try to summon light … It’s like the oily darkness around me stifles it. My magic sputters weakly and dies. Well, _that_ is disheartening to say the least. The mechanism rattles behind me again, announcing the arrival of my disturbingly enthusiastic tour guide. The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle as Valdemar steps out.

“What a cozy ride. Come along, there’s a lot to see today.” Valdemar says. They briskly stroll down the long, narrow hallway ahead of us, lighting the other torches as they go. I assume the lighting of the torches is purely for my benefit and I’m not complaining at all. The light helps me to hold onto my courage. I have to keep moving. I have to find answers … for Julian.

“So you have questions about Doctor No. 069, do you?” Valdemar prompts over their shoulder as we continue walking. I have so many questions that they almost run together. Maybe I should start with something simple, first. Something to test the waters.

“Maybe you can tell me …” I begin, “What did he do, exactly?”

“Oh, this and that.” Valdemar says with a dismissive wave. “I didn’t pay much mind to what he did. No more that the other doctors. As I recall … he was always working with leeches. Thought blood was the key. If you want specifics, you’ll have to ask him yourself.” I would if I thought he would actually answer me. Then again, he may not remember what exactly he did while he was here. He only recently regained his memories concerning the dungeon at all.

At the end of the hallway, a massive metal door looms ahead of us. Locks and barred doors seem to be the style of choice down here, but I suppose it _is_ the dungeon. Still, the place has a malevolence to it that has nothing to do with the décor. Valdemar pushes the door open, and leads me into some kind of … macabre dressing room. This place just gets creepier and creepier. There are aprons on hooks all along the walls and racks of tools, including quite a few masks. Valdemar puts the torch in a holder by the door.

“Now, please hold questions for the end of the tour. But first.” Valdemar intones, sounding almost like the tour guide they are playing at being. Albeit, a very creepy one. Abruptly, they swerve right in front of me, stepping uncomfortably close. They use their hands to approximate the measurements of my torso and arms. Then, just as quickly, they sweep away, towards the equipment. I stand still, recovering from the slight shock while they pluck one of the aprons down from the wall, and scoop up a familiar looking beaked mask from a rack.

“Let’s get you into some safety gear, hmm?” Valdemar hums at me. I look at the items in their hands. The apron is splattered with ink and old bloodstains. How unsanitary. Valdemar holds it up to me, eyeing the fit. It’s a struggle to hold still while they clasp me into the apron and mask. Even through their gloves, their hands feel icy cold. I grit my teeth and try to to squirm away. If I have to play along to get answers, then I’ll do what I have to. For Julian’s sake.

“Ah, perfect. Now, right this way.” Valdemar says. They unlatch the door at the other side of the room, and push it open. I catch a whiff of stale, fetid air wafting from inside. The lingering scent of the dried-out herbs still in the mask’s beak manage to cover it. Barely. Valdemar stops in the doorway, turning to face me. They pull their mask down to uncover their face, and take a deep breath of the rancid air. I feel like gagging at the thought of breathing that in.

“Ahhh, much better.” They say with a sigh. “And now, the main attraction.” They walk backwards, into the main chamber and I follow them after hesitating for a second or two. The first thing I can see is a circular, raised stage in the center of the room. A metal table with ragged leather restraints is positioned in the middle of the stage. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what its purpose was.

“I see you are admiring the stage.” Valdemar’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “We had such fun shows here! Very enlightening, yes, very good practice.”

“What … were you practicing?” I ask hesitantly.

“Medicine, of course!” Is the reply.

“And Doctor Devorak?” I ask next.

“He preferred working from observation. Always doodling away.” Valdemar says. I give a hum simply to show that I am listening, but turn to look around the room. To my left is a row of tables similar to the one on the stage. Each table is surrounding by trays filled with tools, bowls, and jars. Valdemar notices my attention shift and goes on in their tour guide voice again.

“Now here, we have the vivisection tables. They doubled as dissection tables, after a certain point. Very secure, especially once we reinforced them. I didn’t mind when they wiggled, but _some_ people said it was harder to see what they were doing.” They gesture, with a flourish, to a row of cages. Miserable, cramped, and just large enough to hold a single person. These weren’t designed for long-term imprisonment. They are more like the kennels a pet is put in to be transported.

“This is where we kept the patients.” Valdemar says, seeming to barely hold in their excitement. “And the doctors, once they became patients. There was discussion of moving infected doctors elsewhere. Apparently their presence was _uncomfortable_ for the others. But the plague ran it’s course too quickly to justify the trouble.” Horror is not a strong enough word to describe the feeling I got at those words. Imagine having to see someone you worked with … a colleague and friend, in a cage because they succumbed to the plague. The survivors guilt must have eaten at the doctors still working on a cure.

“Oh, but this is my favorite part.” Valdemar pulls a rusty old lever. “I do hope they’re still doing alright down there. It’s been a while since they’ve eaten.” They muse out loud. On the other side of the room is a half-circular pit set into the wall. Its lid slides into a recess, the work of whatever mechanism Valdemar activated when they pulled the lever. As it recedes, I hear a strange rustling sound from inside the pit. No … not rustling. _Skittering_. Hundreds of red carapaces shimmer in the torchlight as beetles swarm over stark-white bones, picked clean. And from the sides of the pit, red water drains through channels bored into the stone. I’ve seen that red water before. Back when I saw Julian throw his mask into the river. Red water was flowing from a drain in a forgotten corner of the Palace, polluting the aqueduct supplying the city. Which means this … this must be the source. How … vile.

“Marvelous little creature, aren’t they? So fascinating. So lethal.” Valdemar says with a disturbing grin, showing off their pointed teeth. “So effective at _disposal_. But not everybody appreciates a good show. So many people got squeamish when we tossed the bodies in. Well, now you’ve had the full tour. Any questions, comments, concerns?” Well, yeah. Just a few.

“Why would he do this?” I whisper out, not even really talking to Valdemar, but they answer anyway.

“Why? Why do you need a why? What why, besides a love of science?” They ask as though genuinely curious and confused. “Though I suppose he was the same way. Always rattling on about consequences, when the patients were going to die anyway.” I steel my nerves for what feels like the millionth time today alone. I may not like the answer … but I have to ask.

“What reason did he give, then?” I ask, surprising myself at my calm sounding voice. Valdemar gives me a strange glance as they tilt their head. They have a creepy habit of doing that. I don’t like it in the slightest.

“You weren’t here during the plague, were you?” They ask somewhat rhetorically. “It was no mere sniffle. Years upon years of people feeling a little under the weather on day one, and being dead by day three. Do you know we ran out of room to bury them all? So we burned them. Even then, the bodies piled in the streets faster than we could cart them away. And everyone still breathing … was just a corpse in waiting.” From anyone else, the words would sound funereal, but Valdemar’s eyes shine with a fell glee. They _enjoyed_ the plague.

“Against those thousands, what’s a few more bleeding out a little early, in pursuit of a cure? ‘Necessary sacrifices,’ hmmm? Ends always justifying the means. Ah, I miss those days.” Well, that confirms my suspicions about Valdemar. They are deranged at best. Warped and beyond help, at worst. I fear the latter. Despite everything I’ve seen so far, I feel like I haven’t gotten the answers I want. What did Julian see down here to make him confess? He mentioned his old office when I visited him earlier. Maybe there’s a clue there.

“Was he in his office during the last Masquerade?” I ask then, an idea sparking in my mind.

“Yes, locked inside. He’d come down with a little case of the plague, you see.” Valdemar informs me. “Such a shame that he was one of the few who survived it. I was looking forward to prying open that skull. Then again, today might be my lucky day after all.” Not if I can help it, it won’t be. If anything, that just makes me more determined to save Julian.

“Which office was his?” Valdemar tilts their head towards a harried wooden door on the far wall. I find my gaze following their leading.

“He left a number of personal effects. I never understood it, but I suppose he was attached to them.” They say. I cautiously approach the door. A barred window is set into it, at eye-level. Inside, I can see a cot, a desk, a few cluttered shelves … It looks lived-in, almost homey, if such a thing is possible down here. The longer I look, the more strongly I feel it. A sense of peace inside this room. This must have been his refuge from the horror outside. I can feel an echo of his presence worn into the very stone. Long fingers close on my shoulder, and Valdemar leans on me, peering into the room. I pull away, startled. They don’t move, apparently leaning on nothing, watching me with that ghastly smile.

“Let me inside.” I say, half a demand and half a plea to get away.

“Oh? Well, suit yourself.” Valdemar says. They unbar the door and let me in. “I’ll just be out here, overcome with nostalgia.” The moment the door closes behind me, I cautiously lift the mask away from my mouth. The air inside is stale, but not nearly as putrid as it is outside. Relieved, I tear off the mask.

The room is small, cramped, and damp, but somehow it still feels cozy and welcoming. A very different feeling from just outside the door. There’s a cot in the corner, still rumpled from hours of tossing and turning. A set of crooked shelves are mounted on the wall over the cot. One holds a row of bottled leeches, long since shriveled up. The others support little hand-carved trinkets, and a few molding books. A desk is shoved up against the opposite wall. Papers are scattered haphazardly across the top of it. The inkwell is toppled over, and the quill is discarded carelessly to one side.

I try to imagine what it was like for him then, working in here, death looming over my shoulder. Knowing that, beyond the Palace walls, Vesuvia itself was dying, crumbling under the onslaught of the plague. I can picture Julian sitting at his desk so clearly, that for a moment I think he really is there. My magic tugs at the back of my mind. _You_ _could_ _see_ _him_ , it seems to whisper. If I focused a little more, maybe …. I close my eyes, focusing intently on my mental image of Julian. Here. Sick, sitting at his desk, working, searching for a cure. Willing something to happen. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and when I open my eyes … I see Julian, right where I’d imagined him sitting. For a moment, I miss him so much I can barely breathe. Julian hunches over his desk, muttering to himself, writing notes and then scratching them out feverishly. Every now and then he looks up, towards the door to his office. The sclera of his right eye is crimson. Proof that he was yet another victim of the Red Plague. With a sharp gesture, Julian flings his quill aside and knocks over his inkwell.

“No, no, _no!_ ” Julian cries. He claws at his own hair in clear frustration, then covers his face with his hands. “No, it’s all wrong. It should be working. Why isn’t this working? What am I missing? I have to … I have to think. Before I can’t any more. I can do this. I can’t, I won’t, let it end here.” He laughs unsteadily, hunching forward, curling around himself protectively. His next words come out soft, almost pained.

“… Is this … is this how you felt?” How _who_ felt, I wonder. His head droops, exhaustion overtaking him. The desire to comfort him surges through me, and I find myself reaching out for him. But my hands pass through him, without any effect …That’s right. This is only a vision of the past. No matter how real it seems, I can’t do anything for this memory of Julian. I have to use what I learn here to help the real him, the one sitting in a cell under the Coliseum. Suddenly, Julian bolts to his feet, knocking his chair over in his haste.

“That’s it! That’s, that’s it, I’ve got it!” He says triumphantly. The vision fades then. Frustration boils in my blood. I reach out with my magic, trying to recall the vision, but the room remains still, and silent. So close! I cast my gaze about for anything out of the ordinary … Now that I’m looking closely, there’s something strange about the fair wall. The chalk has faded with time, but if I get close enough, I can still trace a familiar outline. It’s the symbol I saw on Julian’s neck. The mark of his curse, his ability to take other’s wounds onto himself and heal from them. But why is it here, on this wall? My mind races. Julian never did tell me _when_ Asra gave him that mark, or how. Could it be that it wasn’t Asra’s doing at all? It wouldn’t surprise me.

Filled with a surge of energy, I turn to search the room again, looking for something, anything, related to the mark. My eyes catch on a stack of books on Julian’s desk. I scatter them across his desk, dusting off the covers, and stop when I find what I’m looking for. The same symbol again, emblazoned in silver on a book cover. I open the book, scanning the contents. It’s in a language I can’t read, to my great annoyance … But I _have_ seen these words before. In one of Asra’s books, back in the shop. From the looks of it, it’s been here since Julian was here working on the plague. Could this be one of Asra’s books? And if it is, what was Julian doing with it?

Questions swirl in my mind, and somehow, I know … This book has at least one more secret to show me. I page through the book, letting my intuition guide me. There are notes scribbled in the margins, in Julian’s now-familiar handwriting. It’s stupidly hard to decipher his handwriting, but if I tilt my head just right and squint, I can make out some of the words. _That_ _dream_ … _fever_ , _chills_ … _delirium_ _or_ _portent? Keep seeing … symbol … raven’s head … what does it mean?_

Near the back almost to the end, a torn page is wedged into the book. The words ‘I want to believe’ are scrawled across it. Curious, I turn the page over, and gasp in shock. Julian must have been feverish when he made this drawing. The lines slant and jitter alarmingly. In places, he pressed hard enough to break through the paper. But the figure on the page is unmistakable. I would recognize it anywhere. Heart hammering in my chest, I pull out the Tarot deck, and flip through the cards until I find the one I want … The Hanged Man. The card is silent, offering me no answers or guidance. No. It’s waiting for me to find the answer on my own.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, ordering my thoughts. Yesterday, Julian came down here to find his cure, and answers. I haven’t found anything that looks like a cure. I don’t know what answers he found. But I know that somehow, this book holds the key.

“Are you done?” I had forgotten about Valdemar waiting outside the office door. The call makes me jump, and I hastily shove the book into my bag. I fumble with the mask’s straps, and set it firmly over my face again. I’ll have to pursue this mystery later. For now, I need to get out of this dismal place. With one last, backwards glance, I step out of Julian’s old office.

“I’ve seen enough.” I announce.

“Are you sure? Are you very, very sure? Maybe you are.” Valdemar says. “It’s almost time for that trial silliness, isn’t it? You’ll need too testify, won’t you?” They pull their mask back up to cover their mouth and nose, and head for the door. I fall into step behind them.

“I do so look forward to hearing what you have to say.” Was that a threat? It is so hard to tell with them. Humming, Valdemar leads me out of the dungeon. It’s a relief to take off the mask and apron. I breathe deeply to clear the smell of dried herbs from my lungs. As we ascend to the surface, my mind whirls with a hundred thoughts, all pulling in different directions. Nothing inside the dungeon pointed to Julian being guilty of Lucio’s murder. Only that he made some hard choices during the plague. Did he really decide that hanging for one crime was as good as hanging for another? Or is there another reason why he surrendered? Now is not the time for those questions, however. They can wait until I have proven Julian to be innocent. I have a trial to get to.

The Coliseum is packed when I arrive, with more people trying to get as close as possible if they can’t get inside. Even though the Countess only made the announcement this morning, the whole city seems to be here. One of the city guards waves me down and escorts me into the Coliseum. I’m thankful that I don’t have to fight the crowd. For a moment after I get inside, I’m overwhelmed by the din. When I look up towards the boxes, the sun blinds me.

“Order! Order!” A familiar, shrill voice calls, trying to be heard over the crowd. I squint and shade my eyes until my vision clears. I do not like what I see.

“I said order! All of you, quiet!” Praetor Vlastomil practically shrieks. Oh, _no_.


	3. Dueling Prosecutors

All around me in the stands, the crowd gossips and chatters, bubbling with anticipation. I look around and try to take it all in. Three stands have been hastily contracted in the center of the arena. Julian is already at the accused’s stand, surrounded by guards. Way more guards than is strictly necessary, to be honest. The other two stands are for me, and whoever I call as a witness. Standing from her seat in her private box, Nadia clears her throat and speaks, her voice ringing out over the arena.

“People of Vesuvia! Before you stands a man accused of murder. Dr. Julian Devorak. In the past, the late Count would have just had him killed.” She has a sneer on her face as she says that. “But today marks the inauguration of a new era. One best served by a true justice system. Shayde, the magician I appointed as investigator in this case, will present what she has uncovered. Then, people of Vesuvia, _you_ will determine whether he is guilty or not.” The crowd roars on excitement, while I plead with the powers that be that things will go well.

“Praetor Vlastomil will preside over this trial. Should the people fail to reach a verdict, he will decide.” Nadia adds. Great. The courtiers have it out for Julian, though I wonder if it is him personally or just whoever they can lay the blame on. Either way, this just got harder.

“Yes, yes, is it time to begin yet?” Vlastomil asks. He bangs a gavel on the podium in front of him. “Now then, I declare this man gu-”

“ _Praetor_.” The Countess cuts in, her lips curled in distaste.

“Er, that is, I declare the man ready to stand trail!” Vlastomil stutters. “Investigator, make your opening statement!” I step forward, to my place at the questioner’s stand. The feeling of hundreds of eyes on me makes my skin crawl, but I can’t back down now. Not with Julian’s life at stake. Public speaking has never been a fear of mine, not that I remember, but that doesn’t mean that I _like_ doing it. I especially don’t like doing it with this much pressure.

“I’m here today to prove to you that Dr. Devorak did _not_ murder the Count!” I announce. I hear gasps and murmurs rippling through the crowd. “During my investigation, I’ve discovered that … That facts don’t add up!” Everyone seems to hold their breath. I can see people leaning forward in their seats.

“And to prove it, I call Quaestor Valdemar to the stand for questioning!” Across from me, Julian’s face goes ashen. We haven’t spoken since I came back from the dungeons, so he doesn’t know what I learned, if anything at all. Valdemar descends from the courtiers’ box, and takes their position at the witness’ stand.

“What a fascinating custom. Very well, ask your questions.” Valdemar says as they settle themselves. I ignore their comments and begin my questions. I don’t need to present the real murderer, right now I just have to prove it wasn’t Julian. Or at least convince enough of the crowd that Vlastomil isn’t the deciding factor.

“Where did you and Dr. Devorak work?” I ask.

“Down in the dungeon, studying people with the plague.” They answer, surprisingly helpful for once. “Ah, I miss those days. It would be wonderful if there was another plague …”

“And on the night the Count died, was Dr. Devorak in the dungeon?” I ask next, cutting Valdemar’s wishful musings short. I put up with that in the dungeons for the sake of learning something, but I don’t care to hear anymore.

“Oh yes. I locked him in his office myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare the dissection chamber. There won’t be much time after the hanging.” Without the slightest hesitation, they step off the stand, and walk towards one of the arena exits. _Dissection_ _chamber?_  I’m shocked and horrified enough that I don’t react as they leave.

“Quaestor Valdemar, we’re not finished!” Nadia calls. “Quaestor!” But, with a swish of their white coat, they’re gone. The crowd has a lot to say about that, it seems, as everyone begins talking and shouting all at once. Meanwhile, I try to calm my breathing and racing heart. The image of Julian’s dead body laid out on one of the tables in the dungeon is enough to make me nauseous. Curse this active imagination. Sometimes it is too much.

“Knock that off! All of you, quiet!” Vlastomil calls, trying to regain order over the crowd, to no avail.

“Praetor!” Julian’s voice rings out. The hubbub dies down as quickly as it started. With a single word, Julian commands center stage. He throws his arms out with a flourish, nearly smacking an unwary guard. Now, is not the time for your theatrics, I want to shout at him.

“I want to make a statement!” Julian declares.

“Oh my! What a terribly rude and unconventional request!” Vlastomil says, but Julian is having none of it.

“It’s common practice in legal systems. I know my rights.” Julian replies. That right … he’s travelled a lot. He probably understands the concept of a trial better than I do. I have a bad feeling about this.

“Oh, fine. I’ll allow it. Get on with it, then!” Vlastomil agrees. I hold my breath and wait for what I suspect is coming.

“I killed the Count. I’m guilty. That’s all there is to it.” Julian snarls out, turning away from Vlastomil and facing me instead. “So tell me, why do you insist I’m innocent, magician?” Is he serious? I narrow my eyes at him in annoyance … He’s serious. It looks like my opposition today … will be Julian himself. Fabulous. Well, if that’s how he wants to do this, then fine. We’ll do it the hard way.

“As Quaestor Valdemar testified, you were locked in your office on the night of the murder. If you were trapped there, how could you have killed the Count?” I ask, turning to face him as well. If it weren’t for the crowd, and the threat of death looming over us, I would say we were merely having a lover’s spat.

“Ah, but I wasn’t trapped.” Julian counters, with a smug look. “Consul Valerius caught me fleeing the scene of the crime, didn’t he? Truth is, I could have escaped at any time. I’m a slippery sort. It wasn’t hard to pick the lock on my own office door. There’s a dozen exits from the tunnels around the dungeon, and even more secret passages in the Palace. All I had to do was sneak up to his wing … And set him on fire.” It would sound convincing, if I didn’t know the truth. There must be a contradiction somewhere.

“How did you set the fire?” I’m not sure where the question comes from, but something tell me that it was the right one to ask.

“On that fateful night, I went to the Count’s room to confront him for everything he’d done. We argued. It got … heated.” Julian begins. “I’d taken a torch from the dungeon to light my way out. I almost forgot I was holding it … Until he said he’d see my hometown burn. That was the last straw. So I threw the torch at him, and I watched _him_ burn.”

“Hold it!” The Countess’ voice rings out.

“C-countess?!” Vlastomil stutters. Nadia stands with one hand raised. Even at this distance, her voice is clear, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

“That was no ordinary fire.” Nadia goes on. “Only the Count’s body burned, and though it burned completely, the bedding wasn’t even singed. And there was no evidence of a torch at the scene. The servants who cleaned that wing with me would corroborate this testimony.” The crowd erupts in chatter and shouted questions. Nadia wants to find the truth, too. She’s given me an opportunity to turn this trial around. I have to take it.

“So, given that evidence, the fire must have been magical in origin.” I conclude. I slam my hands down on the podium in front of me and whirl around to face Julian again.

“Can you cast magic? Prove it!” I demand, even though I’m perfectly aware that he will not be able to. This is more for the benefit of the crowd. They are the ones that will decide his fate, after all.

“I- I pled guilty then. I’m pleading guilty now! What more is there to it?!” Julian shouts back. So, he is just going to ignore that? I can’t argue if he doesn’t give me any leverage. Maybe a different line of questioning will help. Something less aggressive.

“Why turn yourself in now?” I ask. “After all these years?”

“… I … Well, you see, that’s a funny story, investigator.” Julian says. “Truth is … I met someone special.” The crowd collectively gasps. They leans forward, enraptured, straining to catch every word. But Julian doesn’t pay them a moment’s attention. He gazes earnestly at me, as if trying to make sure I understand.

“Someone I really care about.” He goes on. “Someone I’d do anything to protect. If I could, I’d tell her, I’m doing this because I want her to be safe.”

“Even if it means dying?” I demand. The words slip out before I can stop them. What good is me being safe, if the one I care about isn’t here with me? That would be living a half-life at best. Something I feel like I do already anyway considering I don’t remember most of my life.

“Some things are worth the risk.” He replies … I can’t seem to get any words out around the lump in my throat. A piercing voice shatters the moment.

“Now then!” Vlastomil says. “I think the evidence provided is clear, yes, very clear. It is time for us to pass judgement upon this terrible, awful man!” The crowd murmurs restlessly. I can see people jostling each other and whispering. Way to lead the crowd, Vlastomil.

“Now, if you believe him guilty, cheer!” Vlastomil continues. A wave of cheers crashes over the arena. I feel my heart sinking at the volume.

“And if you believe him innocent, cheer!” Comes the next prompt … I can’t tell which one was louder. It sounds evenly split. Which doesn’t bode well for Julian. A ripple of discontent goes through the crowd. People begin to argue, and point fingers.

“… Oh dear. Oh my. It seems like the will of the people is evenly split!” Does he not have a lower, less shrill volume? “Whatever shall we do? I suppose I must decide. Yes, it simply must be me.” I was a afraid of that. I know which side Vlastomil, and in fact the courtiers as a whole, are on. They want Julian to hang for murdering the Count when I _know_ they had something to do with it. The townspeople hardly seem to hear him. The unrest is escalating into shouting.

“Order! Order! Order, I say, you ill-mannered ruffians!” Vlastomil squeaks out. It does nothing to quiet the noise in the Coliseum.

“Enough!” Once again, Nadia silences the crowd. “Why don’t we take a recess, while Praetor Vlastomil considers his verdict?” Sure, he’ll consider hanging Julian at the start of the Masquerade … or the second the trial is over, if Nadia would allow it. Either way, Julian is more than likely doomed.

“Ah, er, yes, excellent idea, Countess! Court is now in recess! Don’t forget to come back in twenty minutes for the decision!” Vlastomil says, trying to gain some dignity. I would say ‘regain’ but I fear he never had any to begin with. I catch a glimpse of Julian, still in chains, being led back to the dungeons under the Coliseum.

“A moment of your time.” A voice says. I turn to see Nadia descend the stairs from her private box, approaching me.  
“I … must confess, this is not how I expected this trial to go.” Nadia begins. “It must be very taxing for you, Shayde.” Taxing might be the biggest understatement ever. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.

“What can I do?” I ask, mostly rhetorically. There must be _something_ , though. I’m not done fighting yet. I won’t stop, until he is saved … or beyond saving.

“I fear I have no simple solution for you.” The Countess replies. “I must obey the rules of the justice system I have put forth. I cannot risk undermining it now.” Her words and bearing are carefully controlled, but I can sense her discontent. I understand the predicament that she is in. If she intervenes, then she may as well have not changed the system at all. Things would be back to the way the Count used to run things. She studies me for a long, measured moment.

“If you’d like to speak to the doctor again, the guards will let you in.” Nadia offers. I nod, and head across the arena. At the entrance to the dungeons, a dozen townspeople are milling around. They cajole, plead, and push, trying to get pash the guards.

“Stand back! Everyone back!” I hear one of the guards shouting as I get close.

“Let me in! I wanna shake his hand!” A voice calls from the crowd.

“Can you get him to sign this souvenir eyepatch for me?” Asks another.

“Justice for Julian!” Comes another cry. I try to push my way through, but the throng is thick and unyielding. At this rate, it will take the entire recess to reach his cell.

“Shayde!” Mazelinka’s familiar voice makes my heart leap. She breaks away from the rowdy townspeople, shouldering through them until she reaches me.

“I’m glad I spotted you. How are you holding up?” She asks. I struggle to find the words to describe the last day, but every description falls short. Thankfully, she seems to understand without me being able to form coherent words.

“Ech, I was afraid of that.” She grunts. “I know you must be busy, Shayde, but I actually want to ask a favor of you. These guards are keeping us all out of the dungeon. Maybe you can get me in? I want to talk some sense into that boy.” That may not be a bad idea, at that. If anyone can get him to see sense, it would be Mazelinka. I nod. I know a spell or two that might help … but in this case, the simplest solution might be the best. If I could just get through the crowd …

“I’ll handle this.” She says, as if reading my thoughts. Mazelinka brandishes her spoon, and everyone within reach scrambles out of her way. I hold back a laugh at her actions, but I can’t fault the results. When we reach the guards, they start to stand aside for me, but hesitate when they spot Mazelinka. I gather all the courage I can, and draw myself up.

“She’s with me.” I state. The guards exchange confused looks, but after a long, tense moment, they move aside, letting us both pass. The demanding shouts from the crowd only grow louder, but the sound fades as Mazelinka and I descend. There’s another guard inside, standing just outside the cell door. They salute us crisply and let us in. But instead of staying outside, they step inside with us, eyeing Julian suspiciously. Well, so much for privacy.

“Mazelinka?!” Julian says in surprise.

“Ilya, you rascal! What are you thinking?” Mazelinka demands. “Turning yourself in, and calling yourself guilty? What would Lilinka think?” Whereas I’m not surprised in the slightest that she admonishes him right away, I _am_ a little thrown off at the ferocity with which she does it.

“I- it’s not like that.” Julian defends.

“No?” Mazelinka asks. “Then what about your special someone? You told me all about how you wanted to travel the world with her. See the sights, meet people, have grand adventures the bards can sing about. What happened to all that?” He said all that?

“I didn’t want to hurt her. Or get her hopes up for nothing.” Julian answers, his brows drawn down into a melancholy expression.

“There’s always hope.” Comes Mazelinka’s reply.

“… I want to believe that.” Julian says. “But I want her safe, more than anything. Even if she hates me for it.” This is really important to him, I just wish he would tell me why. Is that really so hard?

“Whoever this special person is, I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.” The words are out before I can think about them too much. Julian gives me a quick, secretive smile. A thank you.

“Is that something your magic told you, investigator?” He asks.

“Let’s call it intuition.” I reply, giving him a smile in return.

“See, Ilya? You’ve got people in your corner, fighting for you. So don’t give up on yourself that easy!” Mazelinka says.

“Oh, Mazelinka …” Julian begins, but trails off. Mazelinka’s hard expression softens, and she sighs. She can’t seem to stay angry when he’s making such a woebegotten face. I don’t blame her. He is really good at the dreaded ‘puppy-dog eyes’.

“Well, I’ve said my piece, so that’s enough of that. How are you feeling? Are they feeding you enough?” She shakes her spoon at the guard, and they flinch.

“I …” Julian seems caught off guard for a moment, but then he smiles softly at her. “I’m alright, Mazelinka. Thank you.”

“Hrmph. If you say so.” She grunts. “Take care of yourself, now. That special person is waiting for you.” Mazelinka gives us a meaningful look, then marches out. For a moment, she lingers at the door. Then she climbs the stairs, back out and into the sun. Painfully aware of the guard standing just a few feet away, I clear my throat. I can’t ask him about the book now. I can’t even let it slip that I know him. By the stars, this is hard!

“Dr. Devorak.” I begin. He averts his gaze, the tips of his ears slowly turning crimson. The silence stretches for a few seconds, before he cracks.

“So, uh, how about that crowd up there, huh? Friendly bunch, aren’t they? You were magnificent, by the way. If I weren’t guilty, I’d think I was innocent.” And that is enough for me to snap. I had been holding myself together remarkably well, but his martyr complex is really starting to get on my nerves. Now is not the time to be so self-sacrificing.

“Stop prosecuting yourself!” My words are more vehement than I meant them to be, and I guiltily glance back towards the guard. They seem to be pretending not to hear anything. But that doesn’t mean they keep quiet about what they do hear.

“Oh?” Julian’s voice brings my attention back to him. “Most people would be happy if someone did their job for them.”

“My job is to find the truth.” I declare. He isn’t doing my job. He is making it harder. Julian claiming to have killed the Count is a lie, so my job is far from over. The truth is still waiting to be discovered.

“Then here’s the truth, investigator. This is something I _have_ to do. It’s the only way. I’d say more, but, well …” He gives a meaningful look past my shoulder, at the guard by the door. I understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. Then, with a clatter of chains he rushes up to me and catches my shoulders, bending close to speak directly in my ear. His voice is soft, barely louder than a whisper.

“Trust me, Shayde. I have a plan.”

“Get away from her!” The guard hauls me roughly back, putting themselves between me and Julian. Meanwhile, Julian backs away, both hands raised in surrender, still smiling.

“Ah-ah-ah, no harm done, see?” Julian crones. Overhead, a gong sounds. Still bristling, the guard turns to me.

“It’s time for the verdict. Please go back upstairs.” I nod, and turn to leave. I have to go back to pretending that I’m the impartial, third party I was hired to be. When I take the questioner’s stand again, the townspeople are returning to their seats. Despite the recess, they still seem restless. Not really a shock there. I can see more than a few scowling faces. The guards march Julian out of the dungeon and to the accused’s stand.

“Now that you are all feeling less rowdy, I can get on with the verdict!” Vlastomil’s shrill words drill into my head, making it ache instantly. “After a very lengthy and careful consideration … I pronounce the accused, Julian Devorak, guilty!” I close my eyes as tears threaten to spill. I knew it. The crowd begins to cheer and boo simultaneously, and then shout and argue. Vlastomil has to shriek to be heard.

“And I sentence him to death by hanging, at the start of the Masquerade!” Someone throws a bottle at Vlastomil’s box. In the blink of an eye, the whole crowd is in an uproar. The guards converge around Julian as aggrieved townspeople swarm the arena. My heart hammering, I rush for the exit before I can get caught up in the chaos. I’m not going to let this stand. I’ve got to do _something_. I know I can count on Portia, but we’ll need all the help we can get. He is safe until the start of the Masquerade, so we have precious little time.

Far above me, a raven screams. I look up, and inadvertently spot a flash of color at the top of the Coliseum stands. A spark of recognition goes through me. When I reach out with my magic … I feel Asra’s familiar presence respond. The book I took from Julian’s office sits heavily in my bag. Waiting. I have questions. So many questions. Maybe … maybe he’ll have answers. It’s time I talked to Asra.


End file.
